I Will Be Waiting
by adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: "You once told me that my strength had made you strong, but the truth is you have made me strong. I couldn't have done any of this without your support." Missing and extra scenes for 6x07, because they (and we!) deserve it.
1. If You're Lost

_"If you're lost you can look and you will find me_

 _Time after time_

 _If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting_

 _Time after time."_

* * *

The family's return to Downton passes in a flurry of activity – Baxter catches a brief glimpse of Molesley amongst the throng of people milling across the drive, but there is no opportunity to do anything other than give him a brief smile when he catches her eye, heart fluttering.

* * *

They manage to snatch a brief moment in the hallway, as everyone else crowds around the new arrival in the servants' hall.

"So, how did it go?" Her face is hopeful.

"It went well," he says, sounding dumbstruck. "I've been offered a position on the teaching staff."

She looks at him incredulously. "You've already been given the results? You must have been amazing." Her face shines with pride.

"Mr Dawes said that I performed as well as an Oxford or Cambridge graduate." He ducks his head humbly – never one to overplay his achievements.

"Of course you did," she beams. "After all the work you put in – you deserve it. I'm just sorry to have missed the announcement."

"Nonsense," he murmurs softly. "It sounds as though you've had your own share of drama."

She nods in acquiescence. "I'm just glad to be back, and greeted by good news."

They share a smile.

* * *

Over the course of the evening everyone else retires to bed, leaving them sitting at their usual chairs by the fire.

Molesley eventually looks up to notice that they are the only two remaining – so engrossed as he had been in watching her nimble fingers sewing her embroidery.

"It must be late, everyone else has gone up."

She lifts her head to scan the room; hums her agreement.

"Are you going to take the position then?" she asks, continuing their conversation from earlier now that they are alone once again.

"I think so," he says. "Surely it's too good an opportunity to miss?"

He looks as though he genuinely is seeking her approval, searching her eyes.

She smiles softly. "Of course it is. You deserve it – deserve to do something that makes you happy."

"Being here has made me happy," he admits. "Well, since you came anyway."

His words hang in the air between them.

She lowers her head.

"I mean it," he implores. "You once told me that my strength had made you strong, but the truth is you have made _me_ strong. I couldn't have done any of this without your support."

Slowly she raises her head to look at him – is surprised to see tears swimming in his eyes. She remains quiet, sensing that he has more he needs to say.

"I thought for a long time that I'd missed out on everything - that I didn't deserve anything. I'd given up, but you gave me a reason to try... And I suppose now I've been given a chance to do the job I've always wanted, I can't help but wonder if there's a possibility that the other thing I've yearned for might come true."

Her eyes are soft; his are hopeful.

"What's the other thing?" she all but whispers. She needs to hear it from him – even though Thomas's words about his supposed feelings have stayed with her, she cannot take the chance. She had taken that leap once before and had fallen. She can only hope he trusts her to catch him.

"You," he says simply. "To be with you." His voice sounds wrecked, as though he's been so tired of hiding the truth, but cannot yet quite believe he has been granted the chance to confess it.

She manages not to drop the sewing in her hands, but it's a close thing. Her eyes are wide and incredulous as she attempts to stutter her disbelief, but the look in his eyes stops her.

"You mean it? You want me, even after everything you know?"

"More so," he admits. "Because I see how strong you are; how brave."

She opens her mouth to dispute it, but he stops her.

"You may not see it, but I do – as you saw it within me. You never doubted I'd pass did you?"

She can't dispute that; shakes her head.

"As I have no doubt you can move on, and be happy, if you let yourself."

"I need to see him then," she says. "I need to lay this to rest first."

"Would you like me to go with you?"

 _Bless him_ , she thinks – she can practically hear his heart breaking, and yet he's still willing to be supportive. She can't throw it back in his face.

"Come to York with me, if you can," she says. "But seeing him… I think that's something I need to do on my own. I can't rewrite that chapter of my life, but I do want to move on."

He nods, giving her a small reassuring smile. "You once said you couldn't change what you'd done, even for me," he says, recalling their conversation from so long ago. "I never would have asked you to."

"You have no idea what that means to me," she says softly. "But it mattered in another way too - I wish I had never succumbed to his charms. You see, I have been a fool, and he did ruin me."

"You haven't," he insists. "It doesn't matter, not to me."

He sounds so honest, and she can read the truth of it in his face.

"You once asked me if I wanted to be safe, and I answered 'I might'." She pauses to steel herself, but it's her turn to leap and trust him to catch her, as he always has. "What would you say if I changed my answer to 'I do'?"

It's worth putting herself on the line just to see the astounded look on his face: it flits from shock, to dawning comprehension, to exhilaration. She has never seen him look so overcome.

He recovers himself enough to answer: "I'd say go and face him, and if you feel ready to move on - once you're sure he has no power over you any more - I'll ask you again… Properly this time."

 **A/N: I may write more if people want it!**


	2. You Can Look

Molesley sits nervously on a bench in the waiting room of the prison. He feels like he did when he was waiting at the courts for Coyle's trial, only about a thousand times worse. Worse because this time she actually is facing him.

He remembers the surge of dislike he felt when he first saw Coyle in the courtroom – he has never hated anyone before, but for this man, it's the closest he's got to feeling hatred. Because of this man, the woman he cares about so deeply has had to struggle through so many years of pain, and is no doubt unrecognisable from the woman Coyle knew and destroyed. Instead, she is now the woman rebuilding herself, and for him. She actually wants to move on, to be with him.

He wishes he'd brought a book, anything to distract him from this endless waiting, this endless worrying of how she is, whether she's holding up. Instead it's all he can do to sit there and stare at the whitewashed wall, rather than pacing madly up and down and disturbing the others in the room.

After what feels like hours, she enters.

He stands abruptly, hovering nervously on the other side of the room, uncertain as to whether to cross it, go to her — wants to give her space.

"We should go," is all she says.

He follows her out of the prison wordlessly, waiting for her to speak first, or at least give him a sign that it's okay for him to ask.

They enter a park, and eventually she gestures to a bench further down the path, to a quieter area in the shade of a willow tree.

"Let's take a seat," she murmurs.

He follows her, heart beating wildly in his chest. This is it, either way.

They take a seat.

"Don't look so worried," she tells him, smiling softly.

"I am," he admits. "I'm afraid of what could happen if I ask how it went."

She tries to reassure him with her eyes, speaks gently. "I won't lie and say it was easy, because it wasn't," she admits.

"Why did he want to see you?" he asks.

"He wanted to remind me that I was his – that by turning up, I had proven to him that he still had a hold over me." She stops for a moment, her voice shaking. "I told him that it proved the opposite – that I'd spent so long being terrified of him, unable to even think about facing him, that by turning up it showed – to myself more than  
anyone – that I am not controlled by fear of him anymore."

He nods, unable to find the words to voice how proud he is of her - hopes he can convey it through his expression alone. He can; she has always been able to read his thoughts on his face.

"You know, you never have to be under the hold of a man again, if it makes you uncomfortable," he says, though it nearly tears him apart to voice it.

Tears fill her eyes and finally she reaches for his hand, clasping it in both of hers.

"You're not him," she tells him. "I feel safe with you."

It's the perfect opening, by accident or design, and he cannot miss it.

"Then I want to make you safe," he says, and she can see in his eyes that this is it – this the moment they have both yearned for. He ducks his head briefly. "I tried to prepare a speech," he admits. "I've spent the last few nights thinking and thinking and trying to come up with the words…" He trails off, still not meeting her eyes.

She squeezes his hand in both of hers, encouraging him to look at her, and only when he finally raises his head again does she say, "I don't need a grand speech. Lord knows, I never even thought I'd get this far, not after everything, so believe me when I say there is no way in which you could ask me that would result in me saying 'no'."

He can barely catch his breath, a hopeful smile breaking onto his face.

"In that case, forgive me for saying no more than that I love you, and I would be honoured, and overwhelmed, if you would agree to marry me Miss Baxter." His voice holds the trace of a question, even after her previous words.

She smiles, and they both have watery eyes as she replies, "I will, Mr Molesley — I will."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**


	3. And You Will Find Me

**A/N: Otherwise known as The One With The Cutest Wedding In History. This is everything I could possibly want, so I hope everyone else loves it too!**

* * *

They part by the stairs in the evening; she had insisted that it was only unlucky to see each other the _night_ before, and he would never deny her anything.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he murmurs, voice sounding slightly strangled. For some reason, the thought of ascending the stairs tonight holds a far greater meaning, and he finds it difficult to leave her.

Perhaps she reads it in his face, because she gives him a reassuring smile. "You will," she agrees – then, "I know."

"It feels different to you too?" he asks, and she nods. He glances up the stairs, willing his feet to move.

Her hand reaches out to touch his arm – not grabbing, but holding him there. "Before you go –" she starts, faltering for a brief moment. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"What for?" He sounds genuinely curious.

"Because without you I would have been lonely forever," she tells him, matter-of-fact. "I would still be scared and hiding. But with you, well - I know I'm going to be happy forever, so thank you."

He can't argue with that – he has always endeavoured to make her happy, and knows that it will only become a more desperate need when he is her husband.

She cannot hold back at the overwhelmed look on his face – it moves something within her and she raises herself up on her toes to brush a quick kiss to his lips. He startles for a moment, but she only moves away slightly, allowing him to readjust and respond in his own time. He leans in shyly, but there's no hesitation in the way he kisses her – the way his free hand reaches out to cup her face, thumb trailing along her jawline.

When they eventually pull away he presses a kiss to her cheek, whispers into her skin, "I'm even more loath to part from you now."

"And I from you," she laughs softly. She has always smiled most readily with him, through their developing trust and friendship over the years, but even he can count on one hand the number of times he has heard her laugh. It warms him in a way only she could.

With great effort he finally pulls himself away, makes it onto the first step. "See you tomorrow, beautiful bride," he says with a smile.

Her face falters, teeth worrying at her lip. "I'm not –", she starts.

"You are," he replies quickly, cutting her off. "To me you are. To any man with sight actually, I'm sure, but they don't matter." He takes her hand again, kisses it lightly. "Phyllis, you're the most beautiful woman I've seen."

Her heart swells, leaping at the use of her name. "If you're sure?" She doesn't doubt him, only herself.

"I am."

"Thank you," she breathes. "Goodnight Joseph."

* * *

Anna acts as her early morning greeting; Mrs Patmore following close behind with breakfast as a wedding day privilege.

"What's that?" Phyllis asks, indicating Anna's hands clasped behind her back.

"A present," Anna says, with a cheerful smile. "From your husband to-be." She pulls it out from behind her back.

Phyllis gasps, "They're beautiful."

"Now, not that I like to indulge in gossip," Anna grins. "But a little bird may have told me that he picked them himself. This morning."

If her eyes fill with tears, Anna kindly doesn't mention it – instead busying herself with getting the clothes out of the wardrobe whilst Phyllis takes the flowers.

"Did he know what colours you were wearing?" Mrs Patmore asks. "They match perfectly."

Phyllis smiles. "He did inquire, in his own endearing way," she muses. "I did wonder why."

 _Now I know_ , she thinks, gazing at the strands of forget-me-nots and daisies.

* * *

"H - How do I look?" Molesley asks, standing in the kitchen and trying not to fret.

"Nervous," Mrs Patmore tells him honestly.

"I am," he admits. "Did – did she like the flowers?"

"She loved them," Mrs Patmore says. "You've got nothing to worry about."

His hands are shaking as he tries to fix the flower to his buttonhole. "I know, but I can't help it." His voice wobbles.

"Come here," Mrs Patmore says, and fixes it for him.

He remembers Mr Carson's wedding - how badly he had been shaking, how nervous - and now Molesley understands. It's strange, because he's dreamed of this day all his life, but as he got older that's all he thought it would ever be – a dream, a hope. He can barely believe he's standing here, on his wedding day. And his wedding to Phyllis Baxter, of all people – his sole friend in life, his soul mate.

"You're so lucky," Daisy says earnestly, eyes wide. "So is she."

"I know I am," Molesley agrees.

* * *

"How do I look?" Phyllis asks, frowning at herself in the mirror. She hadn't wanted to wear anything too dressy - wouldn't have felt herself - but wonders if she might seem too plain.

"Beautiful," Anna replies.

"You don't think it looks too… ordinary?"

She shakes her head. "No, it really suits you."

And it's true – the blue of her day dress highlights her eyes, and her beige coat has been embellished by the gift of a brooch from Her Ladyship. She had offered that Phyllis could keep it, but she had replied that she would feel more comfortable returning the jewels. Her Ladyship had given her a wry smile in understanding.

Anna hands her the flowers once she's fixed her hair under her hat. They complete the picture perfectly – the blue and white sitting together harmoniously.

"He'll be blown away," Anna assures her.

* * *

She's not wrong. As soon as Molesley catches sight of her walking down the aisle, arm-in-arm with a surprisingly proud-looking Thomas, his eyes fill with tears.

She gives him an encouraging smile, which becomes more and more radiant the closer she gets.

"You look beautiful," he tells her once she's standing next to him, his voice hushed.

"So do you," she whispers back. "Thank you for the flowers."

Happiness radiates from her, quelling the remaining nerves that had been fluttering in his stomach. "My pleasure."

* * *

"Joseph William Molesley, will you take Phyllis Baxter to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," he vows, gazing at her with such love she feels it as a palpable warmth.

The vicar turns to her.

"Phyllis Baxter, will you take Joseph William Molesley to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," she vows in return, and he sees the same in her eyes.

* * *

They turn to face each other, and he takes her right hand in his.

"I, Joseph, take you, Phyllis, to be my wife," he says, voice overcome with emotion. "To have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish," – his gaze is impossibly tender – "till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow."

She smiles dazzlingly at him as she takes his right hand in hers.

"I, Phyllis, take you, Joseph, to be my husband," – words she never expected to get the chance to say – "to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow."

She can see in his eyes that he's as amazed as she is that they are finally here.

They exchange rings, pledging to honour each other, and at long last, she is safe.

* * *

They walk back down the aisle together – this time her hand is clasped in the crook of her husband's arm.

Everyone gathers outside the church to congratulate them; people from the village who Molesley has known for years come up, giving their best wishes. Most important though are the proud faces of their colleagues – these people who have seen them grow together over the years.

Phyllis seeks Thomas out to thank him for his role in the day. Molesley comes with her, much to her surprise. "You've been a good friend to him," he explains. "If you can forgive him for his attitude when you first arrived, then so can I."

The pride and relief in her eyes tells him he's said the right thing. He may never forget her fear every time Thomas came near in the early days, but now she is so transformed he can barely recall it, couldn't envisage that expression on her face now. He watches her interact with everyone, and is truly struck for the first time by how content she looks – finally recognises his part in her happiness, rather than just seeing her role in his.

* * *

The reception is held in the school hall – Mr Dawes had told Molesley to consider it his pleasure, and had received an invite in return. He greets Phyllis warmly, delighted to welcome her properly into the community.

"I've never had this before," she admits to the headmaster, as her husband squeezes her hand where it rests in the crook of his elbow, in a gesture of reassurance. She is extraordinarily grateful to him, for everything – for giving her a home.

* * *

Phyllis smiles supportively at him as he prepares to make his speech.

"I'd just like to thank everyone for coming today and celebrating with us," he begins. "But most of all, I have to thank my beautiful wife," his eyes are clear and shining with happiness. "She has always supported me, always believed in me. In her eyes, I have never been worthless and her belief in me has made my life worthwhile. With her, I have everything I ever hoped for." He raises his glass. "So, please join me in a toast, to Phyllis Molesley."

Amidst the chorus of voices and cheers, Phyllis beams proudly at her husband. She knows how difficult it must have been for him to speak so openly of his feelings, for someone who is naturally shy.

"You make me brave," he murmurs in response to the thought, as though he can read it on her face.

"You make me feel loved," she replies, clasping his free hand briefly.

* * *

They have danced in the past of course. There have been numerous servant's balls and they had always danced together, if nervously.

Now, there are no nerves, only love. It resonates from them both – how happy they are – as they twirl around.

He holds her close, hand resting on the small of her back as a slow song begins to play. Their arms rest closer to their bodies, bringing them further into contact. She breathes into the hollow of his neck, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder as they turn.

"I love you," he whispers into her ear.

"I love you too," she breathes back – then adds with a smile, "Husband."

He turns his head to brush a soft kiss against her hairline, continuing to sway to the music.

* * *

 **A/N: Forget-me-nots symbolise true love and daisies symbolise loyal love and beauty - I may have cried a little bit about that.**


	4. Time After Time

The first time she sets foot in their cottage is after he carries her over the threshold. They both laugh at their ungainliness, but his arms are gentle around her body as he manoeuvres them as delicately as possible.

He watches her face as she takes in the room, trying to read her expression.

"What do you think?" he asks, attempting not to sound too nervous. He just wants everything to be right for her.

"It's beautiful," she tells him. "Perfect."

Her gaze lingers upon the vase of flowers on the window sill: the delicate, thoughtful touch is so very him.

"Did you pick those yourself as well?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," he says, not knowing how to explain that she deserves far more than he can ever give her, but is humbled by her appreciation of even his smallest gestures.

She cannot resist reaching up to kiss his cheek to show her thanks; she doesn't have to resist anymore – now that he is her husband she can do it whenever she wishes.

He blushes under her lips.

* * *

The light has slowly begun to fade, and he leaves her side to pull the bedroom curtains closed. She stands in the centre of the room and watches as he sets about lighting the lamps. She can see his hands shaking as he fiddles with the burner.

Eventually he turns to face her, and she can read the nerves in the lines of his face.

Her eyes hold far more warmth than the flickering lamplight, and he feels himself drawn towards her – burning with a need to bring her closer. He wonders if she knows what it means to him to be here, be with her, in this moment.

Her eyes flicker shut as he raises his hand to lightly stroke her cheek, and he sees that maybe she does, because it means the same to her. The realisation blindsides him for a moment, and his fingers still against her skin.

She opens her eyes, looking at him softly, as his hand drops back to his side.

"What is it?" she asks gently, as he lowers his gaze to fix on her brooch.

"I don't – I haven't…"

"I know," she reassures him, cupping his face in her hands. "I haven't done it like this either," she admits quietly.

He looks at her quizzically.

"With someone who loves me," she clarifies.

And he does – God, he does.

"We'll just take it slowly," she assures him.

He nods, face colouring slightly with embarrassment. "I just don't want to disappoint you."

"You won't," she promises. "You never could. I love you."

Her hands slip down to grip his jacket lapels and pull him into a kiss. The last time they did this he said he'd been loath to part from her – now he doesn't have to. He groans against her lips with the realisation.

She pulls away with a gratified smile adorning the curve of her lips, and he can see it dancing in her eyes.

"I love you," he tells her fervently, breath hitching as he watches her fingers slide lower to slowly undo the buttons on his waistcoat.

He stands there in his shirt, trying to calm the thundering of his heart, and the shiver that runs through him is nothing to do with the slight chill of the room.

Her coat follows his, and he takes the opportunity to admire her body. He has seen her in the dress before of course, that day at the beach. He still remembers sitting with her on the pebbles, and her beautiful smile – she had been happy that day, and he had seen the radiance shining from her. She is even more beautiful now.

His gaze is so strong she feels it as a physical caress, but the look is nothing compared to the feel of his hands as they clutch at her hips as if to anchor himself.

Shaking hands lift at the hem of her dress; she covers them with hers and helps to pull it over her head.

She will never forget the look on his face at that moment – the wonder, the longing.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers, and his voice nearly breaks with the effort of speaking so low. He must see the uncertainty in her eyes, because he raises his hand to stroke her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. "You truly are. You're all I've ever wanted." He watches the relief slowly filter into her expression.

She returns his touch with renewed confidence, smoothing her hands across his chest. Her nimble fingers loosen his tie; make quick work of the buttons of his shirt.

"I've always admired your talented hands," he murmurs. She raises an eyebrow suggestively. "I meant with your sewing," he laughs, but doesn't bother refuting the double entendre in his choice of words.

Her fingers trace the soft skin of his chest with wonder, dark eyes never leaving his. "Make love with me," she breathes, feeling his heart rate increase beneath her fingertips.

Words fail him, so instead he takes her free hand in his, leading her towards the bed. They shed their remaining clothing slowly, tenderly, taking their time to touch and appreciate being here with each other.

"My love…" he whispers into her hair as he pulls her close to him, feeling the length of her unclothed body fully against his for the first time. Her arms wrap around his back, gently guiding him the rest of the way to the bed, until the back of his legs brush against the mattress.

They share a smile as he pulls her down with him, settling gently by her side. His eyes follow the path of his hand as he strokes lightly down her face, tracing the curve of her lips. She presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb. His fingers continue to trail downwards, along the smooth line of her neck; between the valley of her breasts; across the soft skin of her stomach to where she needs them most.

She leans up into his touch as he rains kisses across her chest, the movement of his fingers drawing quiet sounds from her lips.

"Please, Joseph," she manages to sigh.

He cannot deny her this – could never deny her anything. He feels a final surge of nerves before he enters her, but she smoothes her hands reassuringly across his back, the love shining in her eyes encouraging him wordlessly.

They moan together as he finally makes her his, and she makes him hers. Her legs wrap around him, bringing him even closer to her as he begins to rock into the cradle of her hips. Her head turns into the pillow, eyes slipping shut. He fights to keep his open, determined to watch the pleasure flit across her face.

He presses a haphazard kiss to her temple as the movement of her hips becomes more erratic. She twists her head again, lips seeking his.

"Phyllis –" he cries against her skin, holding her tightly to him as he comes apart in her arms. If she can feel his tears slipping into her hair she doesn't say anything; only strokes the back of his neck lightly, then harder as she follows him.

* * *

He settles by her side once again, pulling the covers over them.

Eventually he finds his voice. "Was I – was it alright?" he asks, and she can hear the hope in the words.

"You were amazing Joseph," she whispers tenderly, her eyes glistening.

He smiles coyly. "So were you."

He leans in, pressing a final kiss to her lips.

"Goodnight, my love," she says once he has extinguished the lamp and pulled her close to him.

"Goodnight, my beautiful wife."

* * *

 **The End.**

 **I really hope you enjoyed!**


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